


Owned

by JiniZ



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9587741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JiniZ/pseuds/JiniZ
Summary: Ignoring his brother's advice, Dean sets off on a hunt alone even though he has no real lead to follow. What he encounters in an abandoned bunker not unlike the one he calls home isn't what he was expecting, but it's exactly what he needs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The brilliant [Liliaeth](http://liliaeth.livejournal.com/) fucking _spoke_ to me with goddamned tentacles. How could I _not_ snatch up this art?

 

_I shouldn’t be here._

It’s a thought he’s repeated to himself every few seconds. A mantra he continually ignores.

Even though it was still dark when he left the motel, the temperature is easily in the low 90s, the humidity probably nearing a hundred percent. And here he is dressed in boots and jeans because he doesn’t _do_ shorts.

It’s hot and sticky and the salt from the ocean is doing a number on Baby, and the small hamlet doesn’t have a car wash. Not even a self-serve one. Hell, this fucking town doesn’t even have a stoplight.

He doesn’t understand what’s so special about The Hamptons anyway. Beside it being hot as hell, there are people _everywhere,_ and they’re all like those LaCroix’s in Connecticut, although, somehow, he thinks these people are worse. He hates this place and he can’t wait to leave.

Which is why he’s now knee-deep in God only knows what, having ignored Sam’s multitude of warnings, trudging further into a bunker that’s not unlike the Men of Letters’ back in Kansas. Only this one hasn’t been used since Camp Hero was decommissioned by the Air Force in 1981. It’s full of dirt and graffiti and water, and the smell is like nothing he’s encountered before.

He’s not sure how big the bunker is, but he keeps moving forward, EMF meter and flashlight both blazing at full force. Whatever monster is down here, Dean is going to finish it off so he can get the hell out of Dodge, so to speak.

He’s heard stories of this place, of course. Camp Hero is supposed to be where The Montauk Project took place in the 1960s. Mind control, time travel, reptilian aliens, that sort of thing. A load of hooey, in Dean’s book, but there’s _something_ that’s been the cause of strange stories over the years.

What drew them here was an article in _The Daily News_ about a college kid who disappeared while he and his buddies were trying to get into the base. They wanted to do their own little found-documentary movie and thought the abandoned base would be perfect for it. When he vanished, his friends looked everywhere for him. Nothing. No trace of him.

Marc Peterson was missing for three days when he turned up naked, dirty, and covered in ringed bruises, babbling something about a monster in the bunker. He couldn’t give any description of what he saw other than that it was big and red. Whether it was because he’d been kept in the dark during his missing time, or because he chose to block it out, Dean didn’t know. Every time he tried to talk to the kid, he’d just stare off into space.

As Dean inches further into the bunker, he curses himself for ignoring Sam’s warning that they hadn’t gathered enough information to hunt whatever is down there yet. He’s about to say to hell with it when he hears a soft _squelch_ nearby.

He shines the light down the hall looking for what made the noise. He figures it’s probably just a rat, but then again, you never know.

He tucks the EMF into a pocket and wades carefully down the flooded hall towards an opening on the left. He’s pretty sure it came from that direction. The beam of light reflects off the surface of the water, illuminating the debris floating in it. It’s mostly broken pieces of wood, but the occasional clump of seaweed makes itself known.

The water by the door ripples, like something is breaking the surface. Dean pauses, waiting to see if something emerges from the doorway as he curses himself again for coming here alone.

And something _does_ emerge from the doorway.

Dean blinks his eyes to make sure his vision is clear in the beam of light from the flashlight.

Three large, red tentacles snake around the entrance, and the water sloshes as if something is being dragged through it. Nothing shows itself, but the tentacles grow longer and fatter as they inch forward.

He’s frozen with indecision. He can’t think of any monster they’ve ever hunted that had tentacles like that. He can’t run in the water, and even though every fiber of his being tells him _get out_ he knows he’s got to stay put. He turns off the flashlight and shoves his body against the concrete wall as quickly and as quietly as he can so as not to draw any more attention to himself, and hopes that whatever this is will pass him by.

He waits, back to the concrete as he listens to the sloshing of the water as something _big_ comes through the doorway. His eyes close and he drops his head against the wall, praying to anything that will hear him to get him through this in one piece. He’d gladly put up with Sam saying _I told you!_ for the next week, hell, the next month if whatever that thing is leaves him alone.

The splashing of the water seems to last ten minutes at least. He’s not really sure how much time passes, his mind trying to keep the thoughts of tentacles at bay. He’s counted to sixty at least five times; he’s not even sure anymore.

The sound of the water stills and Dean thinks he’s in the clear, but he keeps the light off just in case. It occurs to him that the sound didn’t grow fainter like it was moving away, it simply stopped.

_Fuck._

His heart races and he struggles to control his breathing so the thing won’t hear him even though he’s pretty sure he’s been discovered. He hears water drip somewhere near him and he knows it’s _right there._ He’s fucked and he’s not sure what to do. Maybe if he stays still it can’t see him. Like a T-rex. He vaguely remembers that from _Jurassic Park._ It was in a movie, so it’s got to be true.

He feels a tentacle hover over his stomach as if it isn’t sure he’s there, so he holds his breath as best he can. He can hear the water dripping off it back into the muck he’s standing in, and for a few long moments, it’s a stand off to see which will blink first.

The tentacle touches his torso, prodding him, checking him out. A second tentacle comes down on his head and slides its way down to his cheek. It’s smooth and a little bit slimy and Dean is going to pass out from fear in a second.

 _This is it,_ he thinks. _This is how I die._ And for some strange reason, he’s oddly at peace with that. He’d always known he’d die during a hunt. It’s a simple law of averages; something was bound to get him sooner or later. He just hopes it doesn’t hurt too much, whatever the tentacle thing has in store for him.

A sucker attaches itself to his cheek as the end of it pats his head. _What?_ Is it petting him? He feels the tentacle at his stomach slide lower and under his shirt, and its cool skin makes him shudder. It inches toward his back and when it meets the wall, the suckers attach to him, pulling him forward. He tries to resist. He tries to stay against the wall, but the thing is too big, too strong, and he plants a foot to keep his balance as it gently removes him from his spot.

Dean screws his eyes shut in the dark as if making doubly sure this isn’t real. But he knows it is. He thinks back to the police report and the pictures of Marc Peterson’s bruises and he knows that they came from the same tentacles that are on him now.

The appendage on his torso snakes around his back, the one on his face slides around his neck and for a moment, Dean thinks that’s how it’s going to end. It’s not, though, as the tentacle finds the back of his shirt and joins its twin under Dean’s clothes.

There are two large tentacles on his back, and he thinks with a start that they are _caressing_ him. They don’t pull at him, they don’t feel like they’ll hurt him, they feel kind of … _nice_ and holy fuck where did that come from?

It’s only then that Dean notices another scent in the air that breaks through the stench of the bunker. It smells like sea spray and bonfire with a hint of beer underneath. It's a pleasant aroma that calms him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean thinks that the tentacles must be secreting some sort of pheromone to pacify him. He’s not sure he cares. The scent is so inviting that Dean barely notices the third tentacle appear by his face, but he instinctively leans into the touch of one of the suckers.  

The tentacles feel good now. Less slimy, less cold, more inviting, more _loving._ He places his hand over the one on his face, caressing it back. He does the same with one of the tentacles circling his body. They feel so _good_ against his skin that he suddenly wishes, _needs,_ to feel them everywhere.

He lets go of tentacles, reaches down to his pants, unbuckles his belt and pops the button on his jeans. His cock is hard and he palms it through his underwear, groaning at the touch. He pushes his pants down as best he can, freeing his cock. He shivers as the cool air surrounds him.

He stands there, exposed to a monster. A monster he’s supposed to kill, but instead, god help him, he wants it to fuck him. The pheromones have made him lose his mind. His cock leaks, desperate for a touch of the monster. He groans at the thought of being impaled on a tentacle.

More tentacles surround him. They lift him up and carry him off to its lair, but he couldn’t care less. Dean wants nothing more than to belong to the monster. He gropes at the tentacles, needing to feel them. His legs dangle for only a moment when one of the tentacles slips between them, making him sit while he’s carried along. The feel of it on his undercarriage makes him moan in pleasure.

He wishes he were naked. He desperately wants to be, but he can’t force himself to stop rubbing the tentacles long enough to tear his clothes off, so he just keeps reveling in the feel of their skin on his.

After only a few seconds, the darkness begins to fade behind his closed eyes, so Dean chances a look at his surroundings. He’s been taken to a cavernous room that opens to the ocean, which must be where the monster regularly stays unless it’s come to hang out in the bunker.

And what it does in the bunker, he can only guess. Mark Peterson said he’d been groped and let go with just a few bruises and a 72-hour inpatient stay for his trouble. The monster has something else in mind for Dean.

He glances at the tentacle between his legs and gasps. It’s dark red and speckled. The ones around his torso are a little more brownish in color, but still speckled. The sight of the tentacles around him is enough to bring him to the edge as his cock throbs painfully.

The tentacles drop him gently into what can only be called a nest and detangle from him as he whines at the loss of contact. He turns to face the monster and it’s then that he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he _belongs_ there.

The monster is just a simple, albeit _large_ , octopus, it’s body not more than five feet away. He looks into one of its eyes and it blinks at him. He interprets it as a sign that he should get naked, he has no idea why.

Dean tears at his clothes. They can’t come off fast enough. His t-shirt is wet from sweat and the tentacles and it sticks to his body awkwardly as he tries taking it off. Once it’s off, he doesn’t fling it too far away on the off chance he is allowed to leave. He sits on the soft nest and quickly removes his soaked shoes and pants, depositing them by his shirt.

He stands and takes his cock in his hand. He strokes it lightly as he stares at the creature. He has no idea why, but he thinks it’s pleased with him. He pinches a nipple and gasps at the sensation.

One of the tentacles slithers over to him and wraps itself around his leg, the suckers pulling at his skin. It’s a thick one and it squeezes his leg in what dean interprets as a sign of appreciation.

A second, thicker tentacle makes to wrap around his torso, so he stops what he’s doing and lifts his arms up so the tentacle can envelop him how it wants. Once it’s positioned itself where it wants - wrapped around him twice - with the tip at his face, Dean drops his arm to the limb and embraces it, nuzzling into the tip.

It’s at that point a slightly smaller tentacle shows itself, absurdly reminding Dean of that little clown fish’s damaged fin from that movie he totally hasn’t seen three or four times. He huffs a laugh as he watches with keen interest where the little tentacle is headed.

He’s thrilled when it serpentines itself around his cock. Three tiny loops around his dick, the suckers sure to leave marks. It alternately squeezes and pulls at him and he closes his eyes and rests his head against the tentacle there.

He’s lost in the sensation, his hips weakly thrusting, his range of motion limited by the silky arms around him. His breath comes faster, little grunts of pleasure escaping his lips. He’s vaguely aware that he shouldn’t be enjoying it, that he should be humiliated, but he doesn’t give a fuck.

The tip of the small tentacle dips into his slit, his knees nearly buckle, it feels so good. He wonders if it’s anything like what sounding would feel like. The monster seems to know exactly what he likes and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was _edging_ him, bringing him close to the brink of an orgasm and then pausing just enough to stave it off.

He whimpers the fourth time it happens. The sixth time it happens he starts to cry. The line between pleasure and pain blurs and he’s not sure he can stand much more. The tears stream down his face, trickling around the suckers on his cheek, over his lips and down his chin.

And just like that, the tentacles all slither away from him, dropping him into the nest, leaving him desperate and wanting. He falls to his hands and knees as his breath comes in a ragged pant, and he struggles to catch any breath at all. Why would it leave him like that?

One of the large tentacles lands gently on his back, the suckers pulsing on his skin. It circles around his body lifting him up again and turning him around. Once he’s facing the opposite side of the room, the pulsing of the suckers intensifies to just the right side of pain and he cries out.

It’s then that the small tentacle that was on his dick finds its way to his ass and one of the suckers attaches itself to his hole, pulsing at his entrance.

“Oh, fuck.”

It’s not a statement of fear, but a declaration of how good it feels. The water and the natural coating of its skin feels exquisite on his ass. He pushes back into the feeling, forgetting about the large tentacle snaked around him.

The little tentacle dislodges itself and for a moment, and Dean thinks that it’s going to latch onto his cock again, but it doesn’t. Instead, he feels the tip worm its way into his ass. He inhales sharply at the intrusion. It doesn’t shove into him all at once; it takes its time as if it were a lover who doesn’t want to hurt him. He is grateful for the care it takes with him.

He rocks back onto the tentacle as it has its way with him. The sensation is like nothing he’s ever felt before. Soon, though, the tentacle is gone. He looks back at the octopus over his shoulder, his eyes pleading for more. He needs whatever the cephalopod wants to give him.

One of the larger tentacles is back at his hole and pushes into him slowly. It nearly takes his breath away. It’s bigger than any dick he’s ever taken and he’s sure it’s going to split him in two.

The tiny tentacle is back at his cock and starts jacking him off again. His erection waned a bit when the other one penetrated him, but now that the suckers are back on his dick, it swells anew.

It’s too much. He wonders if it’s possible to die from pleasure. From a fucking octopus, no less. He hopes they never find his body.

His mind starts to float, the pleasure overtaking him now. He’s so close to the edge of an orgasm, he can feel his balls draw up, ready to release. He focuses on the stimulation his prick receives and he comes with a soundless shout.

He’s been kept on the edge for so long, he actually passes out.

When he wakes, he forgets where he was until he moves. His ass hurts. His skin aches. His dick fees raw. He thinks he feels come dripping out of his ass. Did the octopus get off too, or was that just natural octopus slime? He just might be sick at that thought.

He looks around the room for the creature but it’s gone.

He moves gingerly as he gathers his clothes to go back to the motel and forget this ever happened.

He dresses slowly, deliberately.

He kind of hopes it comes back.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: the first piece of art was actually the second piece of art. The one at the end of the fic is the one that whispered my name. 
> 
> Shout out to [Winjennster](http://winjennster.tumblr.com) for the beta read.
> 
> Yes, [Camp Hero](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camp_Hero_State_Park) and [The Montauk Project](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montauk_Project) are actual things, and having been born and raised in Montauk at the time TMP was _supposed_ to be going on, I'm a little miffed I was never experimented on. Whatever.
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://trekchik.tumblr.com). I'm nice.


End file.
